Ten Tales Tall and True by Alasdair Gray

leave.”
    Are delighted. Truly delighted. Feared had lost him.
    But both are quiet in the car as he drives to the Central Hotel, so something is wrong. Both are quiet because he is quiet, for it is always he who directs the talk or deals it out. Is he angry? Have done nothing wrong, unless it was wrong enjoying dancing with someone else. He is probably tired. Nearly midnight, now. Surprised the Central is still open.
    Without a nod to the doorman he leads up broad shallow carpeted stairs to a lounge empty but for an elderly American-looking couple in a far corner. He tells a waiter, “This place seems quiet enough. Could you serve us a meal here?”
    â€œCertainly sir, I’ll fetch a menu.”
    â€œNo need. This young lady wants nothing but a goodly selection of sandwiches and I will have**********.” (French words.)
    â€œI’m afraid the last is not available sir. The menu will show you what we can provide just now. We have …”
    â€œGet me the manager.”
    â€œThe manager is not available sir.”
    â€œDon’t pretend to be stupid. You know I want whoever is in bloody charge here just now.”
    He has not lost his temper, has not raised his voice, but it has grown so distinct that the Americans look alarmed. The waiter leaves and returns withanother man in a black dinner-suit who says, “I’m sorry sir but the situation is this: the day chef retires at 10.45 and the night chef…”
    â€œI did not come here for instruction in the mysteries of hotel management, I came because this used to be a good hotel, I happen to be hungry, and have a taste for **********, whose ingredients are now dormant in your kitchen. I mean to pay what it costs to have them expertly prepared. There is nothing to discuss. I am not going to explain, plead or bully you, so please don’t use those tactics on me. Understood?”
    He has not lost his temper. He looks at the head-waiter or under-manager or whoever this man is with a fixed half-smile containing no amusement or apology. The head-waiter or under-manager, his face paler than it was, says after a pause, “You are not a resident here sir?”
    â€œNo, nor ever likely to be. I promise this is the last time you will see me here, so do the wise thing and send up what I order?”
    He says this softly, cooingly, teasingly, smiling almost sleepily as if at a joke the man before him is bound to share. The man before him, looking very pale, suddenly nods and walks away.
    â€œOne moment!” cries the Englishman – the head-waiter or under-manager turns – “I will have a bottle of ********** along with it.”
    Keep silent, though he watches sideways now. Was all that done to impress? Are chilled, embarrassed, disgusted, only glad the Americanshave stopped staring, are leaving. Sigh. He looks away. A long silence happens. He murmurs as if to himself, “Sometimes one has to be firm.”
    The barman pulls down a grille over the bar, locks it and leaves. He murmurs, “They’ll probably take hours, just to be awkward.”
    The waiter brings the selection of sandwiches. Have no appetite but nibble half of one, then leave it. Later, from boredom, slowly finish it and then all the rest. Eventually the waiter serves him with a plate containing slips of meat half sunk in reddish gravy with a sweet heavy sickly smell. He looks hard at it, murmurs, “I don’t think they’ve spat in it,” and eats. After some forkfuls he says, “Yum yum. Well worth waiting for.”
    Are driven home, arrive about one thirty a.m. bored, tired, disliking him. In the silence when he stops the car and smiles sideways you want not to invite him in tonight but are about to do it as usual when he says, “Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. It started the best yet but ended badly. Nobody was to blame. Perhaps we need a rest from each other. Anyway, tomorrow night I have to see people, and the